


When You Broke My Chest

by Reddwarfer



Series: When You Broke My Chest [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Rape, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 15:11:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reddwarfer/pseuds/Reddwarfer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Derek does the unforgivable to Stiles, Stiles attempts to forgive him anyhow.  It's not easy. </p><p> </p><p>Roughly based on the kink meme prompt <a href="http://teenwolfkink.livejournal.com/7250.html?thread=6161490#t6161490">here</a>.  Formerly, titled "That day...That's Not Me." </p><p>Title from Daughter's "Youth"<br/>Please read the Trigger Warnings in the notes before reading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When You Broke My Chest

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warnings: Please be mindful of self-care. This story contains a fair amount of potentially triggery material. This story has a fairly detailed non-con scene between Derek and Stiles in the very beginning and the rest of the story is about healing from that. Both Stiles and Derek experience trauma from the incident, but Stiles' recovery is what gets primacy (even in Derek's mind). Stiles chooses to continue his relationship with Derek (which hadn't yet been sexual) after the rape happens. There's acknowledgement of the issues. 
> 
> I can promise that: a) There's no 'retroactive consent'. b) There's no healing cock. c) Sex is not used as a litmus test for recovery. d) There's no easy forgiveness. e) There's no shaming of Stiles. f) Stiles is in control of his recovery process.
> 
>  
> 
> Many thanks to Green, for the beta, to Wook, for advice, to Ves, for handholding, and to my therapist who let me pepper her with questions about the topic. To the requester of this prompt: Sorry it took so long to de-anon and post this. I was writing the mpregbigbang.

It'd been two weeks since his dad's funeral—a fucking _heart attack_ —and Stiles just wanted to go anywhere, do anything, that was something else, somewhere else. Anything at all.

Stiles figured maybe he'd head out east and have someone sell the house, because he didn't know if he could live with the ghost of two parents. It had been hard enough with the one.

He figured Derek, if anyone, would understand.

Instead, Stiles was face down on Derek's bed after a two-hour long shouting match. _"I just need to get away for a while. Why can't you get that?" "You're not going anywhere, and that's final.”_

His throat was sore from screaming and his face and chest ached from the force of it. "Derek," Stiles grated out, voice scratchy. "Stop. Please."

Derek ignored him and continued stripping Stiles out of his clothes. Stiles tried to kick out a few times, but Derek simply rearranged his weight, holding him down and the fight drained out of him. He was tired, and scared, and so fucking depressed. He thought maybe he and Derek were headed this way, but not like this. Never like this. "Let me go."

"Stiles," Derek growled, when Stiles tried to squeeze his legs together. "You're mine and you don't get to leave. Not now. Not ever."

Stiles tried to tune out everything that came out of Derek's mouth. Words, demands, grunts, and tried to think anything else. Selling the house. Undone school work. Research angles. He even desperately tried to run through Latin conjugations to avoid thinking about the way Derek's body felt against his.

Derek's hand came around to grip him, and the fight barreled back in him. "No," he growled, trying to avoid the way his body reacted without permission. "Stop it. Stop it. Stopitstopitstopit."

"You're my mate, mine to breed, mine to have, mine." Derek didn't stop stroking him, simply shifted his arm so Stiles was left with little leverage to try to bat him away.

It wasn't until after Derek made him come that he noticed his face was wet. He tried to scurry off the bed, but Derek had his arm wrapped around him. "Not yet."

And that was when he noticed Derek's cock was getting impossibly larger. "I...don't."

"It's okay," Derek said, and he wasn't thrusting anymore or pinning Stiles down on the bed. He had them both on their sides, Derek holding Stiles against his chest. "It's okay."

Stiles didn't have energy to argue with him anymore and simply closed his eyes.

Derek continued to hold him, even after his knot subsided. He simply turned Stiles around, and rubbed a hand up and down his back, whispering about everything was okay, and everything was all right, and he was safe. Derek's other hand curled up around the curve of his head, rubbing absently at his short hair.

Somehow, Stiles fell asleep.

\--

Derek stared up at the ceiling, rubbing the skin of Stiles' back almost absently. Stiles' voice pleading with him wouldn't stop rattling around his long enough for him to sleep.

He had been so angry and frustrated and _desperate_ and he did the stupidest thing imaginable. When Stiles woke up, he would leave and Derek would let him and then he would drive to the Police Station and tell them everything and Derek had to decide whether or not he'd still be here when they came for him.

Derek looked down at Stiles, frowning in his sleep, face wrecked with dried tears and saliva. He wanted to clean him up, but was afraid if he let go of Stiles, even for a moment, he'd disappear before Derek got back. And this was the last time he'd get to do this, the last time he'd get to see him. But he couldn't stand staring at the evidence of his actions any longer. He shifted Stiles as gently as he could and went to the bathroom for a warm cloth.

When Stiles woke up, it was with a jolt. His face was lit with confusion, then devastation, and then finally fearful hesitance. "Derek," he said, voice quiet and raw.

"Yes," Derek replied, not bothering to stop holding Stiles against his chest or rubbing his back.

Stiles pushed himself up, so he could look at the edge of Derek's face, not quite meeting his eyes. "Can I go now?"

Derek wanted to say no, but he didn't have the right to. Like he didn't have the right to... Derek took a deep breath. "Of course."

Stiles nodded once and awkwardly scrambled out of bed. Derek felt buried under the weight of Stiles' continued silence.

They dressed quickly and walked downstairs to the door. He gathered Stiles to him one last time and hugged him, kissed his temple, and said nothing.

"I guess I'll see you around," Stiles mumbled, eyes darting quickly to Derek's face, before they dropped back to the floor.

"I'll be here," Derek said, and decided right then that when the police came, he'd been waiting for them.

Stiles left.

Derek waited for the police to come for the rest of the day. They didn't, and they still hadn't by the end of the week.

He honestly didn't know what to think about that, so he did his best to not think about it at all.

\--

It had been seven days. Seven days since Stiles had last seen Derek. Seven days since he'd spoken to him. Seven days since... Stiles scrubbed at his face and kicked awkwardly at the mattress under his feet. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't sleep without startling awake after no more than an hour. He couldn't stop reliving everything the second he closed his eyes. And his brain refused to stop playing _why why why why why whywhywhy_ on replay.

He didn't understand and Stiles _hated_ not being able to understand. He couldn't ask anyone to explain, because he hated the thought of anyone knowing. He couldn't ask _Derek_ because Derek never explained anything to anyone ever at all.

Stiles huffed out an angry breath and kicked his heel against the mattress again. He just didn't understand any of it. It was like there were two Dereks that day. The one who... Stiles swallowed thickly. And the Derek who held him and made him feel _safe_ and _cared for_ despite everything. Stiles couldn't help but wonder why if Derek wanted to hurt him that he held him and if Derek wanted to hold him, why he hurt him.

There was only one person who could answer any of these questions and Stiles didn't think Derek would, at least not now. And Stiles knew he'd only be able to manage to ask this question once, if he was able to do it at all.

He was so lost in thought he almost missed the knock on the door. He didn't really feel like answering it, but he did it anyhow. Stiles was surprised to find Erica, Isaac, and Boyd on the other side.

"Hey," he said, wondering if this visit had anything to do with what happened at Derek's. He hoped not, because the idea of them knowing sent his stomach lurching. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Erica gave him a bracing sort of smile, that set weirdly on her face and Boyd's expression was neutral as always, but Isaac's expression was borderline sorrowful.

"Well, um, Derek said," Isaac began and Stiles felt his heart start to jackrabbit, eliciting curious expressions from the three of them. "He said you might be having a hard time, what with...your dad. He said you were thinking of...um...selling your house. And, well, we're here if you need help. You know, with packing. Or moving things. Or just donating them. Or maybe having a yard sale. Whatever."

"Oh," Stiles said, and he could feel his heart calm even as it clenched. "Um. Thanks. Is he...where is he?" Stiles asked, trying to sound casual. He wasn't sure if he could handle seeing Derek or not. Or even if he wanted to or not.

Isaac gave him a half smile. "He wanted to come, but I don't think he wanted to be a distraction."

"A distraction?" Stiles asked, almost by habit.

Boyd nodded. "I guess people tend to feel weird grieving in front of him. A numbers thing. He didn't want you to feel like you had to hide it."

"Oh," Stiles said, and then noticed that he was still talking to everyone on his porch. "Come in. I actually wouldn't mind some help. And some company. Which has been myself for the last week."

"Scott hasn't come by?" Erica asked, awkwardly picking up a half-rolled newspaper off a side table.

Stiles swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat. "Uh. No. I haven't heard from him since Dad was...Maybe he and Allison made up at the service, I dunno. I hadn't felt like tracking him down."

"I can do that, if you want," Erica offered, looking a little mercenary as she did.

Shaking his head, Stiles waved a hand at her. "Uh. No. Don't bother. He'll call eventually. Or maybe I'll drive over there when I feel like it again."

"Feel like pizza and Coke?" Boyd asked, diffusing the tension in the room. "Derek gave us money for food."

Stiles had to forcefully stifle a sob trying to claw its way from his throat. He just didn't understand. "Sure," he managed to get out.

They spent the rest of the evening eating pizza, drinking Coke, and packing away his dad's clothes and other things he couldn't use, couldn't cherish, or couldn't bear to look at any longer. Then Boyd called in for Chinese and they sat on the sofa and watched reruns of Storage Wars until ten thirty that night. They offered to stay, but Stiles was desperate to be alone, because he was hurt and sad and confused more than ever and he needed to think about what he should do next.

Stiles spent another sleepless night turning everything over and over in his mind. He was tired of feeling afraid, especially of Derek. They'd gotten close and he was used to spending the time he used to spend with Scott, with Derek and his pack instead. He just wanted things back the way they were, before Derek... Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and took a long, shuddering breath.

He was in his jeep before he made the conscious decision to do so and made his way to Derek's place. Stiles remained in the Jeep long after he parked, just sitting there and willing himself to go upstairs. He wondered if Derek already knew he was there and didn't know whether to be grateful or disappointed that Derek seemed to be waiting for Stiles to go to him.

"I can do this," Stiles muttered to himself, and got out. He had the key in his hand, but the door was unlocked, so he let himself inside.

Derek was waiting, frozen, in the middle of the living room. He looked pale, hesitant, and unnaturally still.

Stiles went up to him, closer than he thought he'd be able to, and pressed his hands against Derek's chest. He leaned close and said, “This is okay, right? We do this now, right?"

Derek's eyes widened and he shook his head minutely. "I don't think it's..."

"A good idea?" Stiles asked, not moving away, even though his brain was screaming at him _what are you doing?_ "Don't I get to decide if I think it's a good idea?"

"Whatever you want, Stiles."

Stiles gave a humourless laugh. "Now, we do what I want?" he asked, sharply.

"Yes," Derek replied, quiet.

Stiles pressed his lips to Derek's, not quite knowing what he was expecting. Derek kissed back, but didn't make any move to touch Stiles or deepen it. He stepped back, but not away and looked at Derek's face. It wasn't twisted in anger or mocking or menacing. If anything, he looked sad, regretful.

"Let's watch a movie," Stiles decided abruptly. If he could forgive Scott for almost killing him, multiple times, he could try to forgive Derek for..."Marvel marathon."

"Okay." Derek picked up Captain America, because that's what Stiles always liked watching first and then joined him on the couch. Stiles fidgeted for a few moments before moving closer. All the energy he spent convincing himself to come, and convincing himself to speak, and convincing himself that this was something he could deal with left him in a rush and he was suddenly and decidedly exhausted. He leaned into Derek and hoped it would help.

"You want me to...hold you?" Derek asked after a few moments.

Stiles tensed. "Don't...don't mock me."

"I'm not," Derek said as he curled his arm around Stiles' shoulder. "I'll do that whenever you want."

"My choice, eh?" he asked, more bitterly than he intended.

Derek opened his mouth, and Stiles wondered if he was going to tell him what he wanted to know, but he closed and nodded once, and said somberly, “Yes."

After ten minutes of being held by Derek on the couch, he felt himself relax. Derek was the Derek he knew and not that other Derek that...Stiles breathed in, and closed his eyes. He just needed to close his eyes for a moment.

Stiles slept.

\--

Derek absently stared at the menu screen for Captain America and rubbed Stiles' back as he slept. He didn't know what to feel about the way Stiles had kissed him today or how he had fallen asleep in Derek's arms. It was a level of caring and comfort from Stiles he didn't deserve.

It didn't matter what Derek thought about it, however, because he'd decided to leave the decisions to Stiles for now. Even if Stiles changed his mind the minute he woke up again, Derek didn't mind. He felt pathetically grateful for the few moments Stiles had given him already.

Stiles had been asleep for four hours when Isaac came in. He smiled at Derek and moved to turn off the DVD player and television. "You and Stiles made up. Good."

Guilt churned in Derek's stomach. He knew Stiles hadn't told them anything, because he still had his throat intact, but he didn't know what Stiles _had_ said. "I guess."

"We could tell he missed you when we were over his house yesterday." Isaac walked over and peered down at Stiles, whose face was plastered against Derek's chest.

Derek didn't understand how Stiles could possibly miss him after everything, but it was hard to deny it when the evidence was lightly snoring on top of him. "Yeah?"

"Well," Isaac said, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. "It was the first time he'd spent more than a day without seeing you in over six months. I don't know what you fought about, but we're used to Stiles bugging you til you made up. Maybe it was 'cause of his dad that he didn't come by sooner."

"It was my fault," Derek choked out, not looking Isaac in the eyes. "The fight."

Isaac nodded, but didn't comment on it. "Well, I'm going over to Scott's. I just wanted to check in."

"Tell that idiot to stop ignoring Stiles," Derek said, scowling. "I can't even smell him on Stiles anymore."

"He doesn't know what to say to him, so he's avoiding it." Isaac shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm sure I don't care about whatever his bullshit trauma is. Tell him to get over himself and call Stiles or else I'll go over there and tell him myself."

Isaac didn't seem too enthusiastic about that order, but he agreed anyhow and left Derek with his own thoughts again.

He and Stiles should talk about what happened, he knew that, but he didn't know what to say or where to begin. He didn't know if Stiles wanted to talk or what Stiles wanted to hear. The truth was, he was too selfish to risk the unspoken truce they'd managed to broach the subject. If Stiles wanted to talk, they'd talk. Until then, Derek would just follow Stiles' lead and do whatever it took to not hurt him again.

\--

When Stiles woke up, he could tell by the shadows on the wall that quite some time had passed. He pushed himself up enough to peek at Derek's face, which was relaxed in sleep.

Stiles checked the time on his phone and noticed he'd slept for over six hours. For the first time in a week. In Derek's arms. He lowered himself back down and laid his head on Derek's chest, whose heartbeat stumped steadily in his ear.

There wasn't anything wrong with being comforted by Derek. _There wasn't._ It didn't mean Stiles had wanted...things. And it didn't mean Derek hadn't... Stiles closed his eyes and willed his heartbeat to slow so Derek wouldn't wake up. He didn't feel like answering questions about it. It was Derek's fault Stiles was upset, so it was okay for him to want Derek to make him feel better. It didn't mean _anything_ about Stiles.

"You okay?" Derek's voice was gruff with sleep. Stiles nodded awkwardly against his chest. "You sure."

Stiles played with a piece of Derek's shirt and nodded again. "Yeah."

"Okay." Derek didn't seem to be in the mood to push, and Stiles was grateful. He wasn't ready to talk about anything just yet. "Want dinner?"

"Sure," Stiles said, and pushed himself to a sitting position. "What are we eating?"

"I figured I'd let you pick," Derek said, getting off the couch and stretching.

Dinner was quiet, which was mainly Stiles' fault. Derek was quieter than usual, but he never talked much. Stiles didn't have it in him to fill in the silences.

After they'd cleaned up, they sat back down on the couch together, but didn't bother to turn on the television. "I should get going," Stiles said, but part of him didn't want to go.

"You can stay," Derek offered, and Stiles really was tempted, but he didn't think he should.

"Not tonight," Stiles said, getting to his feet. Derek walked him over to the door and returned the hug and kiss Stiles gave him goodbye. "I'll see you later."

When he got home, Stiles immediately stripped and got into the shower. Everything was fine. Nothing had happened. _And everything was fine_. Derek had been the Derek he'd been close to for the last six months. It wasn't weird, wanting that closeness back. It didn't make _Stiles_ weird. It didn't make him anything. It was okay. It was okay for Stiles to get close to Derek again.

It didn't mean anything bad about him.

Whenever Stiles thought about not talking to Derek again, his throat closed and his heart clenched. His mom was gone and his dad was gone and he hardly even spoke to Scott anymore. No more Derek meant no more Isaac and no more Erica and no more Boyd and _no more Derek._ Stiles scrubbed at his eyes. Forgiveness seemed _easy_ compared to losing them altogether.

\--

Stiles went back to Derek's the very next day. And the one after that. And the one after that. And the one after that. They didn't talk much. Stiles mainly planted himself down on the sofa and let Derek cuddle him while they watched whatever movie that came to mind. He always half-expected Derek to act the way he had that day, but he never did. Then he'd let himself relax for the first time that day. He always fell asleep before the movie was over and he always woke up with his face pressed against Derek's chest at least six hours later. Then he went home and spent a sleepless night in his room, wondering what to do about everything.

"Stiles," Derek said as Stiles was drowsing against his chest. Derek's hand was a firm weight against his back and Stiles almost wanted to tell Derek to shut up so he could finish falling asleep.

Stiles looked up instead. "Yeah?"

"You don't talk anymore," Derek said, and Stiles had the feeling that it wasn't what he actually meant to say.

"I don't know what to say anymore," Stiles answered, shifting back to his original position.

Derek was quiet for a moment. "Say whatever you want."

"Does what I have to say even matter?" Stiles asked, surprising himself by the sudden surge of anger.

The hand on his back tensed for a moment, but then relaxed and resumed its slow rubbing. "Yes. It always has."

_It didn't matter when it needed to most_ , Stiles thought, but instead he said, "Do you mean that?"

"Yes," Derek replied, and so earnestly that Stiles almost believed him, too.

Stiles hummed absently and toyed with the fabric of Derek's shirt. "I want to sell the house."

"You had mentioned that earlier."

"I don't think I can stay there anymore," Stiles continued, not dwelling on why he found it easy to talk to Derek about these things because he shouldn't.

"I'm here to help, if you want," Derek offered, and Stiles couldn't account for the relief he felt at the offer.

"If I wanted to stay here?" Stiles asked, his eyes fixed on the hem of Derek's shirt.

Derek's breath hitched, shocking Stiles into looking up. Derek looked surprised and, beyond that, the tiniest bit afraid. "How can you want that?"

Stiles felt that he and Derek had done a great job of _not talking about it_ while still acknowledging the truth of it between them. This was skirting too close to a discussion and Stiles still wasn't ready for it. "I just do."

"Okay. If that's what you want." Stiles wasn't expecting an outright no, but he also wasn't prepared for an easy acquiescence, either.

"You can say no," Stiles replied, absently appreciating the irony of the statement.

Derek shook his head. "I don't want to. If you want to be here, I want you here."

"Good. Okay, that's great," Stiles said, and he meant it. Alone at his house was way worse than here with Derek. For one, he could work on things with Derek. He couldn't bring his parents back from the dead.

\--

Derek still had the taste of Stiles on his lips from his goodbye kiss when he sat down heavily at the kitchen table and tried to picture what the hell he thought he was doing, having Stiles move in with him. It was a bad idea. For him and Stiles, both, but he didn't have the heart to deny Stiles' request.

They hadn't discussed how anything would work, like sleeping arrangements. His apartment only had one bedroom and it's where everything happened. Stiles hadn't even been back in there once.

Derek had only gone in there to throw away the old sheets and change his clothes. Maybe he'd offer to refurnish it, with Stiles' help.

His phone rang and he wondered if it was Stiles saying he changed his mind. A look at the caller id let him know it was only Isaac. "Hello."

"Hi," Isaac greeted. "Is Stiles still there?"

"No," Derek replied, curious as to why Isaac wanted to know.

"Mind if I stop by?" Isaac asked. "I just didn't want to interrupt anything."

"You can come by when he's here," Derek said. "There's nothing to interrupt."

Isaac snorted. "You say that now."

"Isaac," Derek growled out in warning, which elicited an insincere apology. "You're gonna have to get used to it, anyhow. He's selling his house and asked to move in with me."

"Oh," Isaac replied, unsurprised. "He's your mate. It's expected. Scott's not gonna be pleased."

"Scott lost the right to say shit to Stiles," Derek shot back, ignoring how he probably had even less right to anything Stiles at all. "He still hasn't called him."

"Not getting in the middle of this," Isaac replied, more asking Derek than telling.

Derek rolled his eyes. "Fine. Let Erica and Boyd know we're helping Stiles get everything sorted."

"I can still stop by tonight, right?" Isaac asked, and Derek wondered if he made the right choice by having his betas live apart from him. Sometimes, they seemed especially needy for his company; at other times, they were all grateful for the separation.

"Sure." Derek would spend the entire night thinking about Stiles otherwise. He needed the reprieve.

\--

It wasn't until Stiles was back in his old bedroom, packing a duffel's worth of clothes, that he had an attack of nerves. "What am doing? This is certifiable, Stiles. Absolutely certifiable. Who shacks up with their..." Stiles cut himself off. "It's gonna be okay," he said, stuffing another pair of socks in the duffel. "It's gonna be fine. Derek's not crazy anymore. He's not gonna hurt me again."

Stiles looked around the room and saw a few dirty flannels on the floor. He shoved those in his bag, too. He could do laundry at Derek's. "We'll buy groceries and split utilities and argue about which football team to support during the Super Bowl. It'll be like it never happened."

He opened his bedside drawer and saw a half-empty bottle of lube and stared at it. Stiles' breath stuttered in his chest. He slammed the drawer shut.

\--

"So, how do you want this to work?" Derek asked, midway through _Dawn of the Dead_. Stiles was beginning to wonder if it was going to become a habit, only talking when snuggled close during movie time.

His duffel bag was next to the door, where he'd left it as soon as he'd come back. "In other words, where are we sleeping?"

Derek tensed for a moment, then relaxed. "Mostly. There are other issues, too."

"I figured we'd share," Stiles said, not knowing if the anxiety he felt was over whether Derek would say yes or no. Each were equally terrifying.

"I'd like that," Derek said after a few moments. "We should go shopping. For new things."

And by things, Stiles was sure Derek meant bed. Since he had been in no hurry to revisit that particular location, he agreed readily. "Sure. Can we sleep out here til then?"

"Haven't we been doing that already?" Derek asked, and it was the first time he'd sounded amused since before dad's funeral.

Stiles smiled, and it felt strange on his face. "Didn't know if you were up to playing human mattress for another few days."

"I think I can manage," Derek said, and it hit Stiles suddenly that they were flirting. Like they used to. Before. Was it even allowed to do that? Stiles ruthlessly pushed down any dissenting voices in his own head and let himself enjoy it; he was tired of feeling miserable.

Feeling braver than he thought possible, Stiles shifted up enough to give Derek a kiss. It lasted longer than their quick pecks hello and goodbye, but was still remarkably chaste and no tongue. Stiles pulled back enough to stare down at Derek, who looked as surprised as Stiles felt, and then lay back down, heart thundering in his chest.

After he got his heartbeat under control, Stiles became aware of two things: Derek's hand clenching lightly at the fabric of his shirt just above his ass and Derek's erection pressed tightly against his thigh.

Derek was pointedly ignoring it, and Stiles followed suit, turning their attention to the movie with rabid fascination.

"I like when that guy gets killed," Stiles said, knowing it was probably one of the more awkward things to open with.

Derek huffed out a tiny laugh. "Yeah."

"Can werewolves become zombies? Or would the healing factor prevent it? Your uncle's miraculous recovery notwithstanding. I'm not sure that counts."

"You've asked me this before. Every single time we watch a zombie movie"

Stiles snorted. "Yeah, because you've never given me a satisfactory answer."

"Zombies don't exist," Derek said, with that not-really-patient patient tone he had.

Tapping Derek on the nose, Stiles exclaimed, "Case in point! You always try to weasel out of answering. Well, no more prevarication. Fess up. Tell me what I want to know."

"They'd probably just heal. Or perhaps we'd mutate into something terrible," Derek answered and Stiles pushed himself up so he could grin down at him. He never actually expected an answer.

"Or your genetics could be incompatible and you'd just die."

"Why are all our conversations so morbid?" Derek asked, wonderingly.

Stiles squirmed back down to get comfortable. "Luck."

The whole evening was like being back to normal, and Stiles was pathetically grateful. He knew it couldn't be that easy, but it was good to know that even one day like that was a possibility. So it made all the sense in the world to him when he woke up, sweating, in the grips of a nightmare four hours after he fell asleep.

"Stiles," Derek's voice was sleep rough and concerned. "Are you okay?"

Stiles wasn't sure if he wanted Derek to comfort him or to get away from him for a few minutes. It was like his brain wanted to remind him that he couldn't just forget things just because wanted to forget them.

"I don't know," he answered, because there was no point in lying. Perversely, Derek was the only one he felt he could even talk to about it honestly mainly because he was sure that Derek was only one who wouldn't blame him or look at him like it was his fault.

"Should I stop touching you?" Derek asked, hand hovering somewhere above his shoulder. And it was this, Derek asking him, that let Stiles feel safe enough to be held close.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Just...I need you to. Yanno. With the..."

"Like this?" Derek asked, shifting around so his arms were fully around him, and their legs were tangled together. Stiles back was now pressed against the couch cushions and his face buried against Derek's neck.

"Yeah," Stiles whispered. "Like this."

Derek was quiet for a few moments, just rubbing his hand along Stiles' side, then he clearly hesitated before asking, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," Stiles said, more abrupt than he intended. "Yes. I don't know. It was about. What happened."

"I'm sorry," Derek said, and Stiles could tell he was talking about more than just the nightmare. "I'm so sorry."

"I know," Stiles said, because he couldn't say _it's okay_ because it _wasn't_ okay.

Derek was silent after that, but Stiles could tell he wasn't anywhere near going back to sleep. Stiles tried closing his eyes, but whenever he did, images flashed in his head.

After twenty minutes, he gathered his courage to ask a question that had been bothering him for a while. "Do you think...I mean...do you think my dad would have hated me?"

"No," Derek said, voice intent. "Not at all. It wasn't your fault."

"No," Stiles said, "not for _that_. I meant. For choosing to forgive you."

"Oh," Derek said, quiet and sad. "No, he could never hate you. He loved you more than anything."

"Good." It had been niggling at him and he couldn't bear the thought of his dad somehow knowing and hating him wherever he was now.

"He might not have understood," Derek continued after a moment. "But, neither do I."

Stiles kissed the side of Derek's neck. "I don't know if I can explain."

"You don't owe me an explanation," Derek said, meaning it. "I...thank you."

"I think I can sleep now," Stiles said, not knowing how to respond. There were reasons why he'd chosen to forgive Derek, most of them he didn't know how to put into words. Some of them made him realize how badly he probably needed a counselor. He didn't want to justify himself and he didn't say it out loud and realize how stupid he sounded. "We'll be okay."

"Okay," Derek said, like an answer and a promise all at once.

Stiles closed his eyes and slept.

\--

Despite the way their conversation ended after Stiles' nightmare, Derek was entirely unsurprised the following morning when Stiles flinched away from him as he reached around him for a cup on the counter, dropping his own in the process.

Stiles eyes darted away from his, shoulders hunched, and he muttered an apology before grabbing a paper towel from the counter.

"Stop," Derek said, and Stiles froze. "I mean. I'll clean it up."

"All right," Stiles mumbled and darted from the room. Derek sighed and dropped to his knees to clean up the mess. He wished Stiles would just yell at him, learn how to hate him, because it was painful to see him so deliberately passive.

He shouldn't be letting Stiles stay with him and he shouldn't be in a relationship with him. He shouldn't be comforting him after Stiles had nightmares _caused_ by him. It wasn't healthy and Derek was exactly the last person who should be in charge of Stiles' emotional well-being. Every time he decided that he should do whatever it took to get Stiles away from him, he'd look at Stiles and just freeze in place.

Every base instinct inside of him wanted to keep Stiles as close as possible for as long as possible. Letting him go, even for his own good, felt like a physical impossibility. Instead, he resigned himself to following Stiles' lead through this irrefutably unhealthy healing process.

"Stiles," Derek called out when he walked into the living room. Stiles was on the sofa, chin resting on his knees as he mindlessly flicked through the channels on the TV.

"Yeah?" Stiles asked, voice muffled. He glanced quickly at Derek and then back at the television.

Derek stifled the urge to go over there and hug him. "You up for some company tonight? Pack wants to come over."

"Who does that include?" Stiles picked at the hem of his pants with one hand, and let the remote hang loosely in his grip with the other.

"Erica, Boyd, and Isaac," Derek answered. Scott wasn't invited over until he and Stiles had some one and one time. It'd be too awkward in a group.

Stiles watched The Price Is Right silently for a few moments and then said, "Fine."

"Are you sure? I can tell them another time."

"I told you it's fine, Derek," Stiles yelled, halfway to standing up, then he slumped back down, angling away from him, and rested his head on the arm of the couch.

Only two months ago, Derek would have yelled at Stiles right back. Now, he couldn't muster up any anger at Stiles if he tried. "I'll let them know."

Stiles didn't respond and Derek decided to leave it alone. He simply sent the texts and busied himself in the kitchen, checking his cabinets to see if he needed to make a grocery run.

He tried his best to tune out the sound of Stiles' heartbeat, at least for a little while.

\--

Derek watched as Isaac and Boyd dragged Stiles out of his apartment with his lacrosse gear and knew he'd made the right decision to invite them over.

"What's going on?" Erica asked about ten minutes after they left. Minimum safe distance, he supposed.

"Be more specific," Derek replied, knowing it was pointless to pretend that there was nothing wrong.

Erica didn't look impressed with his response, anyhow. "With Stiles. You two have been weird all night. And it wasn't just today. Lately, you two have been acting strange."

Derek's hand stilled on Tupperware container he'd been filling with leftovers. "His dad just died."

"It's more than that," Erica argued as she sidled up next to him. He could see her out of the corner of his eye, frowning, arms crossed. "You've been hovering around him, but you're almost skittish about it. It's weird. And he was as close to silent as I've ever seen him. Which is even weirder."

"I can't tell you," Derek said, tone implying he also didn't want to. "It's up to Stiles, if he wants to tell you."

Erica smirked, but Derek cut off whatever plan she'd try to develop by turning to face her. "You will not bother him about it. If he wants to talk, it's his choice. Don't badger him. That's an order. And that goes for all of you."

Sensing his mood, Erica nodded. "Fine. At least he's willing to talk to you about it. That's something."

Derek's belly squirmed uncomfortably. "Sure is."

"I don't want to go back to class," Erica complained and Derek was grateful for the conversational reprieve. "At least graduation is coming up."

"I'm glad I'll stop being known as that creepy guy hanging out with the high school loners."

"You bit us," Erica countered, grinning. "And you'll probably get upgraded to that creepy guy living with his high school boyfriend."

Derek sighed, because she was probably right. "I wouldn't want to disappoint the gossip mill."

Laughing, Erica leaned against him, head on his shoulder. "I'll eat anyone who tries to hassle you."

"Scott doesn't know yet." Derek knew that was a disaster waiting to happen. He hoped it wouldn't end up like the last time Scott disapproved of how much time Stiles spent with him. He loved Scott like a little brother, but he also resembled that aspect of little brothers by being extremely irritating.

Erica scrunched her nose at that. "Can't you make Isaac kick his ass or something?"

"It wouldn't help," Derek said, although sometimes the thought crossed his mind.

"It'd make me feel better," Erica replied, walking back out to the living room and slumping down in the chair. "And that's what counts, right?"

Derek rolled his eyes and joined her. "Certainly. How could I have forgotten?"

Erica smirked.

\--

The visit had been good for both of them. Stiles had come back with Boyd and Isaac looking better than he had. He wasn't smiling, but he was more relaxed.

After agreeing to a pizza/movie party the following weekend, his betas all left with promises to go to classes and not get in trouble.

As soon as they left, the easy atmosphere of the evening seemed to disappear. Derek hesitantly approached Stiles, who was slouching on the end of the sofa. "Do you want me to..." he gestured towards the hall that led to the bedroom.”I don't have to. Be out here. If you don't want."

Stiles looked up at him, considering, but shook his head. "No. Stay." He reached his hand out and Derek took it. "I'm sorry."

"I'm the last person you should ever apologize to," Derek said, squeezing Stiles' hand.

"Yeah," Stiles agreed, but he sounded unsure. "You're right."

Derek stood there, in front of him, and watched him, waiting for some sort of clue as to where to go next.

"Ugh," Stiles complained, tugging at Derek's hand to join him on the couch. "Just come on."

It wasn't until they were in their usual sleeping positions that Stiles spoke again. "I feel like I don't work right anymore. I try to get angry and I can't. I'm afraid all the time and I hate it. I can't sleep without you and...I don't know why."

Derek honestly didn't even know how to respond to that, so he didn't. He indicated he was listening by gripping Stiles' fingers gently and waited for him to continue.

"I want to call Scott, but I'm afraid if I see him he'll look at me and just know. And it doesn't even make sense because Scott wouldn't notice an elephant sitting on his head. I just miss him. I miss my dad."

Stiles took in a gasping breath and shifted so he spoke against Derek's throat.

"I...I hate that I can't hate you," Stiles said, voice breaking at the end. He stopped speaking then and buried his face against Derek's shoulder, body shaking slightly. Derek simply held Stiles as close as he could and ignored dampening of shirt against his skin.

\--

Stiles chewed his lip as he gathered his things. He really didn’t want to go back to school and deal with everyone, but graduation was coming up and he knew his father wouldn’t have wanted him to drop out.

"I'm going to the house after class." Stiles looked over to the kitchen table where Derek was sitting. "I need to figure out a plan to get things sorted. Decide which things are getting tossed or going into storage. Stuff like that."

"Want me to help?" Derek asked as he brought the breakfast dishes to the sink.

Stiles shook his head, not that Derek could see as he washed their cereal bowls. "I think I'm going to drag Scott with me. Let him know what's going on."

Looking over his shoulder, Derek grimaced. "Let me know if you change your mind and want my help. With the house. Or Scott."

Taking a deep breath, Stiles hurried over to where Derek stood and darted a kiss on his lips before he could chicken out. "See you for dinner. Text me if you want me to pick something up on the way home."

"Sure," Derek replied. Stiles was halfway out the door when he spoke again. "Call me if you need me. For anything."

"Yeah," Stiles said, and then he shut the door behind him. He'd been kissing Derek for the past few weeks, so he didn't know why he was almost too scared that morning. He shook his head to clear it and braced himself for the day ahead.

School was horrible. Nothing bad had actually happened, but it was awkward and uncomfortable and Stiles wished he could have finished out the school year via Internet or tutors.

Scott kept shooting looks at him that alternated between wounded and confused. Erica, Boyd, and Isaac hovered around him, but did that irritatingly fake 'everything's fine, isn't it?' act around him. Whispers followed him anywhere he went and he did his best to ignore them. Most of them were about his dad, but some of them were about him and Derek.

"Scott, hey," Stiles said as they were exiting the school. "I was hoping we could talk?"

After a glance over at Isaac, who simply nodded and disappeared into a car with Boyd and Erica, Scott gave Stiles a half-hearted grin. "Sure thing."

"Come on." Stiles made his way to his Jeep and tried to figure out to start the conversation he knew they needed to have. He snuck a look at Scott out of the corner of his eye and wished he could tell him everything. There was a time he would have and he hated that he didn't feel like he could anymore.

Stiles let Scott spend the drive over to his house talk about the current status of his relationship with Allison (on again), his school work (not failing, but not much better than that), and his home life (his mom was bugging him non-stop about college) and tossed out a comment every so often to let Scott know he was listening.

As soon as they stepped inside the house, he knew he had to say something. Scott looked around, completely bemused, at its current state of disarray.

"Why's the house like this?" he asked, complete with the confused puppy dog face he got when he didn't understand what was going on.

Stiles scuffed his shoes against the floor and gave a sort of half shrug. "I, uh, am selling the house. I guess. I'm not really even living here anymore."

"What?" Scott's eyebrows shot up. "Why are you selling your house? And where are you staying? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I don't want to stay here anymore, Scott," Stiles bit out, trying not to get angry with him. "I'm staying with Derek. As for why I didn't tell you sooner, it's not as if my phone stopped working. You haven't called."

"What!?" Scott's face contorted angrily. "Derek, Stiles? Two months ago you said you were going to wait until after graduation to even consider him and now, what, your dad's out of the way, you think you can do whatever you want?"

Stiles felt each word like a blow to the chest. His throat tightened and his eyes felt suspiciously hot.

"Wait," Scott, said, holding a hand up. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. Sorry. I just don't understand. One minute, it's on the back burner, now you're living with him."

"You knew we were close," Stiles said, eyes on the floor. He was close to vibrating out of his skin, and badly wanted to escape the conversation. "We were doing that whole not-dating dating thing for the last five months. Just, yanno, without kissing or sex or whatever."

"Just because you want to punch your v-card doesn't mean you should live with the guy. What's wrong with you?" Scott exclaimed, arms spread wide. "Don't you remember what he was like?"

"I…" Stiles tried to explain, but the words died in his throat. Before he could try again, the door burst open and Derek came stalking through, anger radiating through every movement. Stiles didn't know what he looked like at the moment, but it must have been bad because Derek's entire body language changed. He stepped in front of Stiles, blocking his view of Scott, face radiating concern. He raised his hand slowly, as if not to scare him, and cautiously touched Stiles' shoulder. Derek waited another minute before he took another step forward, opening his arms for Stiles to curl into him.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Scott yelled. Stiles wanted to know that too, but he settled for closing his eyes against Derek's chest, willing his body to relax. Everything about this whole situation was so wrong, wrong, wrong.

Derek cupped the back of Stiles' neck, and Stiles tensed up, heart ratcheting up again. Derek didn't comment, but simply moved his hand to the small of his back instead. As soon as Stiles was calm again, Derek spoke, "I could sense his distress. His heart…it was beating too fast."

"I'm fine," Stiles mumbled, head throbbing. "I'm okay."

"Scott, go home," Derek bit out, tone brooking no disagreement. "You can apologize later."

"Who said I'm going to apologize for anything?" Scott yelled, getting closer.

Derek turned a bit and stared down at Scott, eyes flashing. "I do. Now leave."

"Just go," Stiles said, not wanting Derek and Scott to decide now was the time they wanted to work out their differences, werewolf style. "I'll talk to you later."

"Whatever," Scott said, slamming his way out of the house.

Derek turned back to him. "I'm sorry about that."

"Not your fault," Stiles replied, wooden. "He'll come around, eventually."

"Do you have anything you still need to do here or do you want to get dinner and go home?" Derek asked, allowing Stiles to step away.

"I didn't get around to doing anything," Stiles admitted, "but I'm not really in the mood anymore. Chinese sound good to you?"

"Sure," Derek agreed. "You want the pack to help you tomorrow?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

Derek didn't seem too surprised by Stiles' hesitation. He simply stood by, waiting. "We could always go shopping after your classes. We need to buy a few things for the apartment."

"The couch needs a break," Stiles agreed, and walked around the living room. He picked up a framed photograph of him and his dad. He was decked out in his lacrosse gear, smiling brightly, and his dad, wearing his uniform, had an arm around him, pride evident on his face.

"Bring it with you," Derek said, standing next to him. "Hang up any pictures you'd like."

Fingers twitching, Stiles put the frame into a nearby box, already half-packed. "Thanks."

\--

Stiles was never more grateful for his relatively invisible social status than he was when he showed up at the school the following day and found that his private life was mostly back to the realm of uninteresting.

It also might have been due to Boyd following him around most of the day and glaring at anyone who tried to bother him. Stiles would have told him to knock it off, but the interference wasn't exactly unwelcome.

Scott had taken to ignoring him and staring at him moodily in shifts and spurts. Stiles just rolled his eyes and let him get on with it. If he were a lot more petty, he could have brought up all the times he'd been there for Scott, risking life and limb in the process, but he refused to sink that low. Or, he would have gladly sunk that low if he really wanted to talk about things, but he really didn't.

"Stiles." He looked up from his deep contemplation of the consistency of school meatloaf and saw Lydia staring down at him, imperious as she always was.

He mustered up a smile for her. "Lydia."

She sat down with her tray and proceeded to ignore the food entirely to focus on him. "I hear you're living with Derek. Why?"

Blunt as always. Stiles had always liked that about her, less so now when it was a question he didn't want to answer from one of the last people he wanted to discuss it with. "You know what they say, the closer I am to danger, the farther I am from harm."

He regretted it almost immediately because not only was Lydia scarily perceptive when she wanted to be, he was sitting in a room full of walking lie detectors who were almost certainly eavesdropping on the conversation.

She held his eyes for a moment, and he tried to convey with all desperation how much he wanted to drop the whole topic without saying a thing. Lydia rolled her eyes after a moment and then said with a bright, winning smile. "Men can be singularly difficult to deal with on a daily basis. Best let him think he has the upper hand while never letting him have it. It's the best solution for everyone involved."

"Thanks," Stile said, and meant it, then added, "for the advice."

Shrugging, she turned her attention to her lunch. "I'm sure I heard that from Oprah. Or something."

Stiles rolled his eyes. He didn't know why she felt like pretending she wasn't smart in front of him. It wasn't as if _he_ had an inferiority complex about it.

On his way to his last class, he saw Scott looking at him as if debating whether to come over. He could feel the weight of Derek's pack shadowing him from behind and in that moment, he desperately wanted to be back in the lunchroom, with Lydia interrogating him about his personal life and pretending she was just a pretty face because for just a while, he felt completely normal for the first time in forever.

Scott must have come to a decision, because he visibly shook himself and walked over to him. "Isaac says you're having a movie night this weekend. With pizza."

"Yeah," Stiles said, debating whether to torture Scott for a while. Then he figured everyone could use some mercy now and then. "You want to come?"

"Sure," Scott agreed, quirking a smile. "Wait. You won't be, like, making out with Derek all night long will you?" Stiles had to blink away an image of Derek's face when he'd hovered over him at Scott's suggestion, but he managed to fake a smile.

"Before or after the orgy?" Stiles asked, and then almost laughed at the comical expression of shock on Scott's face. Then he took a deep breath and shook his head. "I doubt you have to worry about that."

"Just checking," Scott said, and then he hurried into the room to find his seat and Stiles followed, albeit more sedately.

He'd only been seated for about a minute before he got called out of class to go speak with the guidance counselor.

"I was hoping to speak with you yesterday, but I was unexpectedly busy," Ms Morrell began, apologetic.

Stiles shrugged. "It's fine."

"And how are you doing? You've had a lot of changes happen over a short period of time. First, with the death of your father and then when you moved in with your boyfriend," the _who is also a werewolf_ went unspoken. Ms. Morrell might be involved with everything just as much as he was, but she never discussed anything openly at the school.

"I don't want to talk about it," Stiles said, and he didn't. Not about his father and not about Derek.

Ms. Morrell adopted a patient expression she often used when talking to him. "I think it would be helpful for you."

"Why don't people ever accept no?" Stiles asked, suddenly and furiously angry. "Is it so hard? I can say I don't want to and I want it to stop. I can scream no as loud as I can and it doesn't ever matter, does it? It's more important that you get what you want!"

"Stiles," she said, overly calm. "Is there anything you want to tell me?"

He took a deep, shuddering breath and shook his head. "No. I don't want to. I don't want to talk. I don't want to be in this room anymore. I don't want you to give me that calm voice and that passive face and tell me that you know what I should think or what I should feel or what I should do. I just want to leave and go back to class. I want you to stop pushing me when I don't want to be pushed."

She stared at him for a moment, and then she bowed her head. "I'm sorry for not respecting your wishes. We can talk another time, when you're ready."

"Thanks," Stiles said, getting to his feet. "Yeah. Later."

He didn't know why he was surprised to see Derek waiting for him, by his locker, but he was. His heart, he guessed, had given him away.

"Do you want to leave early?" Derek asked. He was close, but unlike last time, Derek made no move to touch him.

Stiles waited until his heart was no longer thumping against his chest. "Yeah, I missed most of that class, anyhow."

\--

For all Derek had pushed for the shopping trip, he felt incredibly nervous now that he and Stiles were now the proud owner of a new bedroom set. It would be the first time he and Stiles had slept together in a bed since that day. Hell, it'd be the first time Derek had slept in a bed at all since that day. Mostly, Derek was worried about Stiles' reaction. He'd caused enough nightmares and didn't want to cause any more.

"Hey," Stiles said, coming up from behind him. He was standing there in his boxers and one of Derek's old shirts and Derek was almost thrown by how much he wanted him in that moment. He'd spent so much of the past several weeks wanting to protect and comfort Stiles that he'd forgotten how much he'd desired him.

It took Stiles raising an eyebrow at him to make him realize he'd been standing there, in the middle of the bedroom, staring. "Ready for bed?" Derek asked for lack of anything better to say.

Stiles smirked. "You figure that one out all by yourself, genius?"

"I'm perceptive like that," Derek replied, refusing to feel embarrassed at being caught out. "I'm not that tired."

Before Derek had the chance to use the excuse to escape out into the living room, Stiles pulled a book from the shelf. "I was going to read for a while. I can read to you, if you want?"

Stiles reaching out to him, without being prompted, wasn't something Derek could ignore, so he offered a smile of his own. "We can do that."

The sound of Stiles' reading _Vector Prime_ washed over him and drowned out the memory of everything Stiles had yelled in Guidance Counselor's office. He rested his head near Stiles' hip, closed his eyes, and listened.

\--

The movie and pizza night went well enough. Scott showed up and everyone got along with each other and Stiles was grateful for it. He hadn't been looking forward to Derek and Scott engaging in a glaring contest, so he was pleased when it hadn't come to fruition.

What bothered him was the increasing sense that people noticed something was wrong with him, beyond his obvious grief for his father. It was almost more than he could stand. He didn't want people noticing, because people noticing led to people asking questions. And since almost everyone he knew could detect a lie without the aid of technology, he really wasn't wanting to engage in a round of Q&A.

Stiles bit at the skin on his thumb and poked listlessly at his laptop, reading random pages on the 'net. He needed a plan, because the fear clung to him like a vine and he couldn't get rid of it. He shut the laptop with a sigh and made his way to the kitchen to get dinner ready.

Sometime in between woolgathering and pulling the casserole he'd baked out of the oven, Derek had come home.

"Hey," Derek said, sitting at the table. He set the stack of papers he'd come in with to the side.

Stiles mustered up a smile for him and kissed his cheek. "Hi. Made dinner. Obviously. What with dinner being on the counter and the plates being on the table and the clock pointing somewhere below the five."

Smiling a little, Derek reached out to him, pausing a second before he took Stiles' hand and squeezed it once. After he let go, Stiles brought the casserole over to the table and served each of them a portion. "Thanks."

"Not a problem. I think we reached our take-out quota ten take-outs ago."

Derek chuckled a little at that and nodded. "Maybe we should keep it for the movie nights with the pack."

"Good idea," Stiles agreed, but then pointed a fork at Derek. "Just don't expect me to do all the cooking."

It wasn't until they were in bed, Stiles with a book— _House of Sand and Fog_ — and Derek at his hip, that it occurred to him what he should do. After he finished the current chapter, he placed the book on his bed stand and scooted down in the bed until he was face to face with Derek.

Ignoring the way his heart sped up and his lungs refused to work right, Stiles curled his hand around the curve of Derek's jaw and kissed him. It wasn't like those kisses he'd given before. This one was deep, full of a desperate sort of intent. Derek kissed back, his hands gentle against his arm and chest.

He pulled back just enough so he could look at Derek's face for a moment, reassuring himself that everything was okay, and then he leaned in again, lips parted. He tried not to flinch at the feel of Derek's tongue against his, but he wasn't sure he was successful because Derek shifted away in a matter of moments.

Stiles knew he could push it, try for another kiss, but he didn't. Couldn't. Instead, he let Derek rearrange them into their normal sleeping positions. Even after Derek turned off the lights, Stiles stayed awake. He knew Derek was aware of it, but wisely pretended otherwise.

It took a long time to fall asleep.

\--

It had been a long, frustrating week. Stiles rubbed his face with one hand and stared at the bookcase, trying to decide which book to go with next. Every night for the past seven days, he'd kissed Derek in their bed and every night he'd do something that stopped the whole process cold. Either he'd flinch or back away too much or clench his eyes shut and Derek would curl around him and turn off the lights, making it clear that it was time for sleeping.

Derek didn't say anything to him, didn't ask any questions. He just lay there next to him and looked at him, openly curious and wary. Part of Stiles wondered why Derek stopped him while another part wondered why he allowed Stiles as much as he did.

The worst part was that it wasn't working or at least not nearly fast enough.

Stiles had spent the better part of the last two years acting braver than he'd felt and he didn't see why this situation had to be any different.

"What are we reading tonight?" Derek asked as came into the bedroom to sit on his side of the bed.

Blindly, he grabbed a book off the shelf and waved it. "This. Uh." Stiles looked at the cover and shrugged. "The Book Thief."

Stiles may have read a bit longer than he usually did, but the book was interesting and Derek hadn't complained. After he put the book down, he turned to Derek, and just looked at him for a moment. He was staring back at Stiles with a tentative expression that was fast becoming the one Stiles saw most often. He tried to quirk a smile, but it felt awkward on his face.

He moved closer and took a deep breath.

\--

Derek wasn't sure what to make of Stiles' new bedtime routine. The book-reading was nice in a way he'd not allowed himself in a very long time. And a large part of him found it far more intimate than the kissing Stiles had taken to doing afterward. He wanted to ask Stiles what he was doing, but he couldn't find the words and elected to stay silent instead. It wasn't as if there was a guidebook to what they were attempting, but that was probably because not a one would recommend it.

The small part of Derek that wouldn't allow him to lie to himself acknowledged just how much he liked Stiles being close to him. The large part of Derek that hated himself reminded him that it was his fault neither he nor Stiles could truly enjoy it without flinching.

When Stiles touched him, kissed him, Derek consciously tried to relax his muscles, close his eyes, and allow himself the moment of pleasure without worry. Just the taste of Stiles on his lips, the sensation of his fingers on Derek's chest was enough to get him embarrassingly hard. Stiles' hand moved down his body, resting lightly on the waistband of his sleep pants. Then, like a punch to his chest, it hit him: the overwhelming scent of Stiles' fear. His eyes shot open, and shifted back, but it was too much. He couldn't breathe because the scent of his own arousal and Stiles' fright hit him again and again.

The next thing to breech Derek's awareness was the sound of Stiles' voice. "Derek, just breathe. It's okay. It's totally unfair that you're doing this. I can't even describe how unfair this is. But, please, you're all right. I'm not touching you. You're safe. I hate you for making me do this for you. Now, c'mon. Look at me and keep breathing."

Derek opened his eyes and noticed he was flat on his back, head just barely lower than the pillows. Stiles was curled on his side, watching him, hand hovering inches away from him. He took a long shuddering breath and then beckoned Stiles to come closer, who curled into his arms almost immediately.

"I don't understand," Stiles said after a few moments of silence. He clenched at Derek's shirt, and spoke into his neck. "Talk to me, Derek."

Surprisingly, Derek managed to find his voice, and said the last thing he expected to say. "I love you."

Stiles choked on a sob, and asked, voice quiet, broken. "Is that why?"

It would be so easy to blame what happened on the wolf. So easy. And it wasn't even a lie, to a degree. "I...there's nothing I can say. It doesn't even matter why. It was my fault I hurt you. Nothing I can say will make that better."

"But what if it's what I want?" Stiles demanded, pushing back enough so he could glare at Derek. "What if I want an excuse? What if I want something else to blame? What if it's what I need?"

Derek felt the tears prick at the corner of his eyes as he looked at Stiles. "It won't help you heal."

"It's not your choice!" Stiles yelled. "Just tell me something. Anything. I want to be me again. And I can't if my head is filled with the same goddamned question over and over again. Tell me _why_."

"I didn't want to lose you," Derek said, helpless, every other reason that had filtered through his head in the aftermath, trying to explain it to himself lodged in his throat. "I..."

He could see the moment Stiles decided to blame everything on Derek losing control of the wolf and he selfishly allowed Stiles to do it. Derek honestly didn't even know if it was better this way or not. If it made Stiles happy, eventually, was it so bad? He ruthlessly suppressed every part of him that said yes.

"Let's get some sleep," Stiles said and Derek nodded because if he opened his mouth, he'd confess to being the absolute worst thing in the world for Stiles even though every inch of him never wanted Stiles to leave.

Later, when the room was dark and Derek was hovering on the edge of sleep, Stiles whispered, "I love you, too."

His eyes burned as he clenched them tightly.

Derek prayed that Stiles wouldn't notice.

\--

When Stiles woke up the following morning, his head pounded as if he'd spent the night doing nothing but ill-advised drinking. He shoved his face against Derek's chest and waited for the headache to subside enough for him to crawl out of bed and find some Advil. Or caffeine. Whichever was easiest.

"You all right, Stiles?" Derek mumbled into the pillow, absently rubbing Stiles' back. The clumsy motions told him that Derek still wasn't fully awake.

Stiles tried to squint his eyes open, but gave it up as a bad job after only two seconds. "Call me dead out of classes, will you?"

"That bad?" Derek asked, sounding far more awake than he had a moment ago.

"Headache," Stiles mumbled into Derek's chest, only to groan when Derek shifted him onto a pillow and left the room. He decided to not complain when Derek came back with a glass of water and a bottle of what he hoped was cyanide but was more likely to be some sort of over the counter pain reliever. "Thanks," he grunted out after swallowing a mouthful of lukewarm water and two pills.

Thirty minutes later, Stiles felt well enough to get out of bed and get ready for school. He walked out into the kitchen and almost wished he'd ignored the pills and kept the headache, going by the expression on Derek's face.

"Lately, you've been...we've been..." Derek said, looking more at Stiles' shoulder than his face. "Maybe we should wait til..."

Stiles stared at him silently for a moment before the anger reared up just as suddenly as it had in Ms. Morrell's office. "Why is it always up to you? Why do you get to decide everything about it? When we _do_...when we _don't_!"

Grimacing, Derek finally looked him in the eyes. "Stiles..."

"Why, Derek? Why can't it ever be my choice?" Stiles didn't even know why he was yelling, why he was arguing for something he wasn't even sure he wanted. Actually, he was completely sure he wasn't ready and what Derek was saying made perfect sense, but he couldn't help how infuriated the whole conversation made him. "I want to have say, Derek."

Derek just sat there, staring at him, helpless. He didn't say another word, just nodded curtly and waited for Stiles to continue.

"I..." Stiles swallowed down the apology that tried to erupt from his throat. "Okay. So, there's that. Christ, I don't even know what I'm saying anymore." He sat down in the chair across from Derek and stared at the tabletop.

"I think," Derek began, then stopped, tapping two fingers against his knee. "I want to suggest something. I'm not saying you have to do anything. Just. Consider it. Please."

"I'm listening," Stiles said, certain he probably wouldn't like what Derek had to say, but he'd already spent more energy than he had lately yelling and he wasn't too keen on screaming at Derek again so soon.

Derek placed his hand on Stiles', telegraphing it enough so Stiles could have pulled away before his hand made contact. "You've spent most of your time with me since...since you moved in. Perhaps, you should stay at Scott's tonight. You two haven't talked much lately."

The reason was bullshit, Stiles knew, and he totally could see what Derek actually was saying. Take a day away from him to see if Stiles would come to his senses. Part of him wanted to argue against it, because he wanted someone to respect a decision he made without overruling him or second guessing him, but he couldn't muster up anymore fight right then. And it was a good idea besides. "Okay."

The utter surprise on Derek's face should have been amusing to him, but he didn't have the energy for that either. "All right."

"See you tomorrow," Stiles said, almost like a question. He leaned down and kissed Derek on the lips, more out of defiance than anything else.

\--

School was hell in that way only schools were able to manage. Nothing life or death related or even physically painful, but it ended up doing that never-ending snorefest coupled with random douchebaggery from people he prayed he'd never see again once he graduated.

He'd cornered Scott as soon as he'd arrived and mumbled out a request to stay over for the night, which Scott agreed to more readily than Stiles thought he would, yet still more hesitant than he'd ever done before.

The rest of the day, he spent dodging questions from everyone he knew, including Ms. Morrell, and pretending to go deaf anytime anyone mentioned college.

Any sense of relief he had when the final bell rang disappeared when he trudged to his jeep and drove to Scott's.

"Hey, so pizza for dinner?" Scott asked, voice high and awkward, as if Stiles hadn't been his best friend for years. Stiles hated the distance between them, now, but didn't know how to fix it.

Stiles mustered a smile and said, "Sure thing. Make sure to get extra cheese. It's too saucy otherwise."

Grinning, Scott nodded at him, and called in their order. "So," he said as soon as he got off the phone. The awkwardness came back at full force. "We haven't done this for a while."

That was true. And it hadn't just been since his father died, but at least a month before that, even. "We should make this a regular thing again. Like before."

Scott nodded at him again, and then they sat around the kitchen table, not talking while waiting for the pizza to arrive. The only things he could think of involved Derek, and even if Derek had never...never...even then, Stiles wouldn't talk about it with Scott. He hated moments like these—silent ones he used to fill with noise and sarcasm—moments when he realized just how much he changed.

"Pizza's here," Scott said, disrupting Stiles from contemplating the wood grain of the table. He looked up in surprise, not having heard the doorbell ringing or Scott getting up from the table. "Wanna watch a movie?"

"Yeah," Stiles said, getting to his feet and grabbing some paper plates and napkins. He joined Scott in the living room, grateful for the distraction of both the movie and the pizza, both great excuses for not talking. "What're we watching?"

"Zombieland?" Scott asked, waving the battered DVD case in front of him.

"Sure." Stiles didn't really care about what movie they watched so long as it wasn't a romantic angst fest.

He paid the movie more attention than it strictly deserved, given he'd watched it over ten times. He chewed his pizza mechanically and darted his eyes over to Scott, who'd pulled out his phone partway through and was likely in an Allison-induced haze.

When the movie ended, Scott didn't even look up from the phone, still trading horribly embarrassing texts, from the goofy expression on his face, with Allison.

Stiles got up and cleared up the detritus from their dinner and sat down at the kitchen table when he was through. He plowed through his homework, not that there was much of it, and he cast another look back toward the door to the living room. He could hear Scott's voice, talking in low tones to someone on his phone.

Stiles glanced at the clock and saw it was close to seven, and sighed. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the table. He couldn't stop thinking about Derek. What if this was Derek's way of telling Stiles he had to move out? What if he stayed out too long? Would Derek come for him? What if he never went back? Would Derek let that happen? Would he want it to? Would Derek be happy without him? Miserable?

Stiles groaned. He hated this. He just wanted to be home. He wanted to be happy. He wanted things to be _right_. He looked at the clock again, twitching when he noticed only twenty minutes passed. Stiles pulled out his kindle, which had all his supernatural files downloaded onto it, and paged through a couple he'd been wanting to read when he had time, but found he couldn't concentrate worth a damn. Not exactly, a new experience for him, but it usually only happened with stuff he had no interest in.

It was just past eight and Scott was still on the phone. He escaped to the bathroom. After he was done, he looked up in the mirror as he washed his hands and had to bite his lip to stop himself from yelling at his reflection.

"Fuck this," Stiles said under his breath, not caring if Scott heard him. He stuff his things in his bag, and left. He sat in his jeep for a minute, wanting to see if Scott noticed, would come out to stop him. He didn't. Stiles didn't even feel bad when he drove away without saying goodbye.

When he got home, he wasn't surprised to find the living room and kitchen empty. He dumped his bag on the floor near the door and trudged down the hall to the bedroom. Derek looked up when he came in the room, but didn't say a word.

Stiles stripped down to his boxers and walked over to the bed, crawling in when Derek lifted the blankets for him. He shifted over until he was sprawled over Derek's chest, staring down Derek's hand, which was curled around his elbow. "I don't feel like reading tonight," Stiles said, instead of asking _You still want me here, right?_

"Don't worry about it," Derek said, moved so he was curled around Stiles more. He kissed the top of Stiles head, tensed for a moment, then relaxed. "I can read to you, if you want."

He almost said no, but changed his mind at the last minute. "Sure."

Eyes closed, Stiles felt rather than saw Derek reach for the book he'd been reading when Stiles came home. He closed his eyes and let _The Garden of Forking Paths_ wash over him, and fell asleep before he even heard Derek turn the page once.

\--

Derek spent twenty worried minutes watching Stiles sleep, brow furrowed in distress, then he shifted them both into a more comfortable sleeping position. Whatever reason Stiles had for coming home early could be dealt with in the morning, Derek decided, and fell asleep incredibly grateful Stiles had come home at all.

Surprisingly, Stiles remained in bed long after he woke. Derek was used to Stiles slipping out as soon as he woke up enough to register Derek's morning erection pressed against him. This time, Stiles simply moved away just enough to not feel the pressure of it.

"Morning," he said, not sure if he wanted to entreat Stiles into a discussion or if he should just wait things out.

Stiles gave him a half-smile. "Morning."

"Do you want..." _to talk about_? Derek didn't say, "breakfast?"

"It was fine," Stiles said, absently fiddling with the sheet. "We ate pizza and watched a movie. Then Allison started texting and you know what Scott's like..."

Derek thought Scott was an absolute dipshit about most things, especially Stiles, but he refrained from saying as much. "Teens in love are stupid." And that, he knew far too well.

Blushing, Stiles averted his eyes, but otherwise didn't respond. "At least I got all my homework done."

"I'm surprised they're still assigning it. Isn't graduation coming up?" Derek asked, because the school he'd transferred to after he left Beacon Hills hardly bothered with anything during that last few weeks.

Stiles frowned. "Yeah, I guess."

"Do you have plans?" Derek wasn't sure what answer he wanted to hear, but he hoped Stiles at least had one.

"You're the first person who asked me that," Stiles said, giving him an evaluative look.

Derek looked at Stiles skeptically. "Seriously?"

"It's always 'what college are you going to?' or 'what are your plans?' or 'what are you going to major in?', " Stiles said, annoyed. "You're the first person to ask me simply, with no expectations attached."

"Oh," Derek said, not quite sure how Stiles wanted him to respond.

Stiles fixed him with a defiant glare and said, "I'm not going to college. At least not yet."

It hit Derek like a punch to the chest, because Stiles was smart and clever and had once confessed to wanting to follow in his dad's footsteps only four months ago. "Did I...did I steal this from you too?"

Surprise fluttered across Stiles' face for a moment. "No. It wasn't because what happened," Stiles said, then added, "well, not entirely, anyhow. It's mostly because of Dad. And also everything that's happened over the last two years. It's been non-stop, Derek. One thing after another." He bit the skin on the side of his thumb. "I'm tired. I just want some time without expectations, without pressure. I just want some time."

"Okay," Derek said, because he understood, did he ever. But, he didn't want Stiles to hide away so much that he lost the urge to try. "Just if you do this," Stiles glared at him, so Derek reached for his hand and cupped it in his own. "Hear me out. I'm not disagreeing with you. I'm suggesting you find something to do, at least once a week, to get out of the house. A hobby. A part time job. Anything."

Stiles didn't immediately refuse, so Derek called it a win. "Only if you do it with me."

"Okay," Derek agreed, even though he wanted to argue that Stiles needed time away from Derek, even if it was a couple hours a week, but Stiles made the decisions, now, and he wouldn't argue.

\--

The graduation party was exactly like their pizza and movie parties, only with more cake.

Derek shouldn't have been surprised when Erica stayed behind after everyone else left to help Stiles move the last of his things from his old house into storage now that he'd sold it.

"Derek, I was wondering about something," Erica said, and he wondered whether she'd been elected by the other betas to ask him questions or if she took it upon herself to interfere in his business.

"What?" Derek asked, not really wanting to encourage her, but knowing ignoring her wouldn't work. He wrapped up the remaining cake and put it in the fridge next to the leftover casserole Stiles had made the night before.

"You and Stiles have been living together for over two months, now," Erica said, tapping her nails against the counter. "But it never smells like sex."

Derek tamped down the urge to flash his fangs at her. "No," he agreed.

"I can give Stiles some pointers," Erica continued, sounding amused, but no. The last thing Derek needed was his own pack pressuring Stiles into sleeping with him. He couldn't even bear the thought.

"I'm not ready," Derek said, and his heart must have bared the truth of that, because she simply looked surprised. "My sex life is not up for discussion and I order you, and everyone else, not to bother Stiles about it, ever."

"Okay," Erica said, hesitant in the way she only was when she knew she'd stepped over a line. "We won't."

Derek felt like he could breathe right again. "Thanks."

"Are you ever going to tell us what's going with you two?" Erica asked, then, because she was many things, but never stupid.

"No," Derek said, even though sometimes he desperately wished he had _anyone_ he felt safe talking to about everything. "We're fine. Everything's fine."

If she could hear the lie, she didn't mention it.

\--

"Derek," Stiles said as soon as he walked through the door. "Come with me? I want to show you something."

Wondering if this had anything to do with the frequent trips Stiles had been making over the last week, Derek got to his feet and walked to the door. "Sure."

Stiles gave him a smile and a kiss and Derek took a moment to feel off-balance before he followed Stiles out to the car.

He drove away from the center of town to a residential area near the preserve. It wasn't as nice as the area his house had been in, but it wasn't anywhere near as bad as where his last home was located.

They pulled up in front of a house near the woods, with an overgrown lawn and an air of abandonment and disrepair. He trailed Stiles up the steps and watched as Stiles pulled out a key.

The inside cemented his initial assessment. The appliances were missing and the whole entire place needed more than just a coat of paint, but it also didn't look as if there was any structural damage.

"I bought it with the money I made from selling the house. Still have a lot left over, too," Stiles said, shifting nervously on his feet. "Did you know banks auction off repossessed homes at a fraction of the market value?"

Derek nodded, continuing his appraisal of the room. The floors were sturdy enough, but looked like they could use a good cleaning at the very least. "You didn't run into a problem because of your age?"

"I paid cash," Stiles said, watching Derek look around. "They tend not to argue with one hundred percent down. "

"Fair enough," Derek said, gesturing to the stairs. "Show me the rest."

The upstairs looked as rough as the downstairs. The bathrooms weren't necessarily bad, per se, but the tile was a hideous shade of green. The bedrooms were large, but had stained rugs covering the floor.

"So, what do you think?"

"You've got a lot of work to do before it's habitable."

" _I_ don't have a lot of work to do, _we_ have a lot of work to do," Stiles said, but it sounded more like a question.

Derek stared at him, because he hadn't wanted to hope for that when Stiles drove him here. He hadn't presumed, because it wasn't his place to, anymore. Stiles got to make the choices, and Derek hadn't earned the right to ask for what he wanted, not yet. Stiles would let him know when he had. "Okay," he said, voice rough. He didn't know how to express how incredibly fucking grateful he felt, so instead, he said, "So, have you had a house inspector by yet?"

"Yeah," Stiles said, "of course, I did," and he walked over to him and offered Derek his hand.

He took it and held on tight.


	2. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a [Tumblr](http://darthkrytie.tumblr.com) and a [LJ](http://reddwarfer.livejournal.com/profile). Feel free to follow me/friend me on either/both. Also, feel free to make fic requests in my ask box thing. I can't guarantee I'll write something, but I promise to try.

"We need to do another run to Barnes and Noble," Derek said, glancing at the bookcase that dominated one wall of their bedroom. "I don't think I can take another novelization of a video game."

"They're not all that bad," Stiles argued for the sake of it. Most of them _were_ pretty terrible. 

Derek made a face. "What about that one that got pulled after a month because it was so bad?"

"That was a special case," Stiles said, because he'd bought a copy of _Deception_ after it'd been pulled off of Amazon due to pure curiosity. That had been a mistake.

"Please," Derek asked, and his face was scrunched up like it pained him to say it, but Derek deferred to Stiles in almost everything these days, from big things like pack business to stupid things, like which dumb books Stiles would read at bedtime.

Stiles rolled his eyes, but nodded his agreement. "I think there's a new book in that Children of the Moon series."

"Stiles." Derek hated any and all romance novels featuring werewolves. And Stiles had a very large sampling on which to base this assertion.

"Fine," Stiles conceded. "We can get a couple more of the Sherlock Holmes stories. Maybe that new Alex Cross book, and hope to God that Patterson stops sucking."

"Unlikely," Derek replied, but there was a smile on his face when he said it.

Stiles looked at the bookshelf for a minute and then down at the floor. He closed his eyes, did a mental spot check on his emotions, his body, nodded to himself, then opened his eyes again. "Um. We don't have to read tonight. If you don't want to."

It took a moment for the tense lines of Derek's body to relax at Stiles' words, but eventually he looked up at Stiles' face, as if looking for reassurance, before heading over to their bed. Stiles took another deep breath, poked at all the little places in his mind just to be sure, and then joined him.

\--

Stiles woke early the following morning, a little anxious, but nightmare free. He counted it as a win. Derek was still fast asleep, brow furrowed the way it did when he had bad dreams. Stiles willed his anxiety to the back of his mind and Derek's expression cleared.

He got out of bed and headed straight for the shower, passing the Marvel calendar hanging on the wall. A quick glance told him today was his monthly get-together with Scott. Stiles sighed as he turned on the water as hot as he could stand and waited for it to heat up. The monthly man-dates—as Erica called them—were the result of the pack wanting them to get back to their old friendship. Those days were the only time Stiles and Scott spent any time with each other one on one when they didn't have the benefit of pack meetings to break up the awkward tension that sprung up between them when they tried to interact.

Ten minutes into the shower, Derek joined him, grumpy at being up at the early hour. Stiles relaxed after a few seconds due to ease of practice. They'd lived with each other for over two years and Derek had yet to remain asleep more than thirty minutes after Stiles left the bed. 

 

"I'm going over to the West Street house today," Derek said as soon as they finished breakfast. "We might need to contract with a new flooring company. I didn't like the job they did on the Sutter Road place. We're lucky we sold it for what we did."

"Yeah," Stiles agreed. He tugged over his laptop and shot out a quick email to his favorite home inspector to see if he had any recommendations. "Is it just removing the tile today? Or did you get the guy to agree to check out the septic tank?"

"He's coming to the house around four. Should be done with the tiling by then." Derek picked up their empty plates and brought them over to the sink. "How long will you be with Scott?"

"Dunno," Stiles answered with a shrug. "Not long, if I can help it."

"You don't have to see him if you don't want," Derek said, waiting a moment before placing his hand down on Stiles' shoulder. 

"No." Stiles sighed again. "It's fine. I don't mind it that much. I just..."

Derek didn't try to finish the sentence for him, and went to pack a lunch for himself instead. 

"It's like he's never forgiven me for changing," Stiles said, at last. "Like he's mad I'm not the same person I was before Dad died."

"Some relationships don't survive grief," Derek said, voice hesitant. Stiles wondered if Derek was thinking about...things. "A lot of my friends never spoke to me again after my family died."

"Sorry," Stiles said, because even the thought of it was _awful_.

Derek shifted his shoulders minutely. "It's not your fault."

Stiles drummed his fingers against the table top. "I know."

"I'll see you tonight," Derek said, gathering his things. He paused near Stiles, waiting, and Stiles got up and kissed him goodbye.

\--

"So, uh," Scott said, rubbing at the back of his neck. Earlier, they'd watched Avengers 2, and now were sitting down to a burger and fries. Movies were a good choice for them because it limited the time they needed to talk and gave them something neutral to discuss. "I, um..."

Stiles raised his eyebrow at him as he chewed and gestured to Scott to spit it out with his left hand. 

"I asked Isaac to be the best man...at my wedding," Scott confessed in a rush. "I hope you're not...um...mad or anything. It's just that. He's been helping me with planning my side of things and you and Derek are like...always busy these days."

"Scott," Stiles said, putting a hand up to stop the babble. "Don't worry, dude. I was kind of expecting that."

Looking relieved, Scott grinned at him. "You're still in the wedding party. Have to wear a tux and everything."

"Yeah, of course," Stiles agreed, smiling back. It was something of a relief for him, because he didn't have to spend hours and hours pretending they were as close as they used to be, while faking that he cared at all about the details of Scott and Allison's wedding. "Want to come back to the house for some Battlefield 6?"

"Sure."

\--

They'd been at it for about fifty minutes when Isaac showed up, and Stiles was grateful for it. "Hey," he said, hoping Isaac was there to drag Scott away.

Isaac sat down on one of the chairs and shared a few pointed looks with Scott. Stiles wondered if they thought they were being subtle. 

"So," Scott said after a few more minutes of his and Isaac's silent discussion. "We were planning on going camping next weekend. Just me, Isaac, and Boyd. We were wondering if you'd like to come. That is, if you can detach yourself from Derek's hip long enough to join us." 

He was on his feet before he even realized he was moving, awkwardly waving an arm in their direction. He took a quick breath, and said, "Um. Drinks. Thirsty. Want some? Sure. Okay."

" _Scott_ ," Isaac whispered behind him, followed by the sound of flesh hitting flesh. "Why the hell did you have to say it like that? You know he had a panic attack that last time."

"Well," Scott hissed right back. "I manage to function out of Allison's sight all right and we've been dating longer."

"You know what Lydia thinks," Isaac said in an undertone.

Scott sighed. "I know."

Stiles deliberately took his time fetching three cans of soda, debating whether he should remind Isaac and Scott that even though he didn't have super werewolf senses, his normal human senses worked just fine and he could hear them talking one room away, when they were hardly bothering to whisper.

"Oh, thanks," Isaac said, awkwardly, when Stiles walked back into the living room and handed him a Sprite.

Scott quirked a small grin when he got his. "Thanks."

The truth was, Stiles did have a panic attack the last time he tried to leave the city without Derek. The only thing he really remembered about the whole situation was mind-numbing, overwhelming fear, though he couldn't say about what. He came out of it, curled in Derek's arms, mumbling something he couldn't recall over and over against Derek's throat. 

(Derek, on the other hand, remembered the entire thing all too well. He pulled up at the rest stop after getting increasingly worried texts and phone calls to find Stiles curled in the backseat of the car, petrified. When he said Stiles' name, Stiles threw himself in Derek's arms, apologized for leaving, and begged _'don't be mad, Derek, don't be mad, I'm sorry, please, don't be mad'_ wetly against his neck for a half-hour before he'd fallen asleep. When Derek stepped out of the car, he was never more grateful for the rain.)

 

"I...um." Stiles looked down at the can of soda in his hand, and plucked half-heartedly at the tab. "I'm pretty busy, with fixing the new house," Stiles said, and it wasn't precisely a lie. "Maybe another time."

"When things aren't so busy, definitely," Isaac agreed, kindly, and dragged Scott by the arm towards the door. "See you at the pack meeting."

"Okay," Stiles said, mustering up a smile. "I know Derek is expecting the Desmond pack to show up next week. It's probably just going to be about that."

"I figured as much." Isaac rolled his eyes. "Later, Stiles."

"Bye," Stiles replied, to both Isaac and Scott, who hurried out of the house, shutting the door behind them. Stiles walked over to the window and watched as Isaac gave Scott a friendly smack upside the head before they got into Isaac's car and drove away.

 

Stiles closed his eyes, breathed in deeply, then refocused on what he had to do that day.

He was twenty minutes into the budget, poking at what they'd set aside for bathrooms, when Erica showed up, grumbling under her breath. "Stiles," she said as she plopped down in the seat across from him. "Men are idiots."

"Sing it, sister," Stiles said as he chewed at the skin of his thumb. Maybe if he got a better price on windows, they could upgrade the tile in the downstairs half-bath.

"You know Scott's just pissy because," Erica said, pausing a moment to grin before she finished with, "he's an idiot."

Stiles looked up from the spreadsheet to point at her. "Word."

"You know that we all get it, right?" Erica asked, serious. "We understand."

He sincerely doubted that, but he forced a smile onto his face. "Yeah."

"It's okay if you Derek makes you feel secure," she continued. "We get it."

The clenching in his throat made it hard to swallow. Stiles nodded, looking back down at the numbers he could barely read. "Yeah."

"Hey," Erica reached over and patted his hand and Stiles tried not to flinch from her touch. "Let's watch a movie til Derek gets home?"

Stiles quickly saved the document and shut down the laptop. He didn't think he could concentrate on it, anyhow. "Iron Man 3?"

"You've read my mind." Erica walked over to the cabinet. "I'll make popcorn."

\--

Over the last two and a half years, Derek had made a business of studying and learning every nuance, every tell, every single inch of Stiles just so he could give Stiles what he needed, whenever he needed it.

So, when Stiles spent the evening increasingly quiet and sullen, Derek wasn't at all surprised when Stiles crawled into bed that night, ignored their current book, and just curled into Derek's arms, silent. 

He waited a few moments to see if Stiles was going to talk—Derek learned years ago if he cut Stiles off, he'd feel the silence coming from Stiles for the rest of the night—and when he didn't, Derek picked up Stiles' favorite book from his nightstand and asked, "Do you want me to read?"

Stiles nodded mutely against his chest, and closed his eyes, fist clenching the fabric of the sheet. 

Having read this particular book so many times he could recite it from memory alone, Derek spends most of the time he read wondering about what happened earlier that day. For the most part, Stiles 'silent days' were few and far between, now. It never went back to how it was before...the end of high school, but they were at least to the point where Derek couldn't easily tally them at the end of a day, either.

The only thing Derek was sure of was that Stiles' mood was directly related to Scott. It was hard to watch both Scott and Stiles circle around each other, both hurt and desperately wanting their old friendship to fit the same way it used to, both not quite knowing what happened to damage it in a seemingly irreparable way. And Derek couldn't fix it. 

He looked down at his chest, and found Stiles had fallen into a fitful sleep, face tight and brows furrowed. Derek set the book aside and turned off the light. He made sure not to hold Stiles' too tightly as he slept, otherwise Stiles would likely end up with nightmares.

Derek placed a kiss on the top of Stiles' head and tried to will himself to sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

\--

Derek could tell as soon as Stiles laid out his favorite meal for dinner during the pack meeting that his growing anxiety about the upcoming visit with the Desmond pack had not gone unnoticed.

"Shepherd's Pie?" Derek asked as he sat down. Erica and Boyd were already sitting in their chairs on the opposite side of the dining room table—a long antique table that had been collecting dust in Stiles' storage unit—sharing a quick look before turning their attention to Stiles. Instead of giving them all a lecture on too many starches, like he usually did, Stiles fetched a basket of dinner rolls and the butter tray.

"It's the only thing we had ingredients for," Stiles said, which was a lie because they'd run out of potatoes three days ago, when Stiles insisted on making papas rellenas and yellow rice for dinner.

Just then, the front door opened and Isaac came in with Scott. "Shepherd's Pie?" Isaac asked, and shot Derek a quick look, before they all took their seats.

"Quit making a big deal about it," Stiles grumbled. "It was the easiest thing to throw together at the last minute."

"Thanks," Derek said, meaning it, and earned a kiss to his temple when Stiles sat down next to him.

"You would not believe who I saw working at the gas station," Erica said, sharing a grin with Boyd.

Derek watched as his pack began gossiping about former classmates Derek hadn't known and tried to relax enough to enjoy his meal. Partway through Erica's gleeful tale of some former lacrosse player's fall from high school glory, Stiles reached over and placed his hand, warm and heavy, on his leg. He covered it with his own.

\--

After dinner, Stiles gave him a look, quirking his eyebrows, before disappearing back into the kitchen with Isaac and Scott.

"I think everyone is aware that we'll be hosting a visiting pack next week," Derek began, as soon dessert was served. "They were friends with my parents, but I haven't seen them since I was ten."

"Why are they coming now?" Boyd asked, poking at a slice of cherry pie—another favorite—that Stiles also just happened to have prepared for dinner.

Derek rubbed his temple. "Apparently, Peter ran into them on his vacation in Florida. They hadn't realized any of our pack had survived the fire."

"What are they like?" Scott's expression was wary, no doubt not wanting to involve his in-laws unless necessary. Derek, once again, marveled how Scott and Allison managed to co-exist. 

Derek felt a squeeze on his thigh, and he continued. "From what I remember, they were always friendly. However, according to Peter, they don't have any human pack members." Derek gave Stiles a sideways glance, and took in the minute nod. "So, be friendly, but cautious."

After everyone left, Derek helped Stiles wash the dishes and put away the leftovers. 

"It'll be fine," Stiles said after they finished. "They're only going to be here for a few days."

"I know." Derek sighed. Visits meant days where Derek had to pretend to be in charge. Visits meant Derek couldn't watch Stiles' reaction for guidance. Visits meant pretending Stiles wasn't his alpha. It made his chest seem too tight, and his mouth too dry. It made him nervous and anxious and he just wanted to be able to look at Stiles and have Stiles let him know what to do, because he stopped trusting himself years ago.

He closed his eyes for a moment, remembered a few nights ago when he was in their bedroom, indulging in something he didn't deserve, panting _yours, I'm yours _in Stiles' ear, wishing he felt worthy of being in Stiles' continued presence, and wanted so badly to be back in that moment, instead of getting ready to see people he barely recalled, pretending to be something that never suited him to begin with.__

__"Derek." Stiles had moved close enough to him to touch, but Derek waited for Stiles to reach out first. "It'll be fine, trust me."_ _

__"Okay," Derek replied, nodding, because he did trust Stiles, more than anyone._ _

__

__

\--

Two weeks later, Stiles found himself out to lunch with just Isaac during the middle of the week, which was unusual for both of them. Isaac was there because he needed a break from Scott worry about the wedding at him and Stiles because the electrician kept hitting on him, in front of Derek, and it set his nerves on edge.

"Sometimes, I can't believe we got here," Isaac said after their meals were served. They were outside, under a ratty umbrella, enjoying the warm breeze. "Scott and Allison are getting married. Erica and Boyd are engaged. I'm transferring to my dream college. You and Derek have your business."

Stiles took a bite of his burger, nodding as he chewed.

Isaac gave him a look. "I know Scott gets on your case about how you're, you know," Stiles watched as Isaac cast about for a nice way to say 'clingy', only for him to settle for a vague hand gesture, "with Derek, but I think you're really good for him."

There must have been something incredulous about the expression on his face, because Isaac just nodded, and said, "I'm serious. He used to be so angry. All of the time. He was rash, and never thought things through before he did them. He was reckless, and you know it. You saw it."

"Yeah," Stiles agreed, hoping his voice sounded steady.

"Then, something happened." Only years of practice prevented Stiles' heart from jackrabbiting out his chest. Isaac, thankfully unaware of his distress, smiled at him. "You moved in with him. He calmed down, started listening, starting thinking. He changed. You made him a better alpha, Stiles."

"Thanks," he mumbled, staring down at his plate. He wished there was a way to escape the conversation without inviting more questions than he wanted to be asked.

"Honestly?" Isaac went on, nudging Stiles' foot with his own. "I don't think he'd function right without you."

At that, Stiles looked up, quirked a half-smile that was entirely bittersweet, and said, "I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fretted about this for the longest time, trying to get the exact tone I wanted for it. I hope it works. I also dithered back and forth on whether to include a mention of their sex life. I didn't want it to come across as 'well, Stiles is all better now, he gets a sex cookie' but I also wanted to be true to the way I wrote Stiles, who would have pushed it, even when (especially when) he wasn't ready for it. 
> 
> I've been debating whether to post a DVD commentary about this story, about what I was trying to show, and why I made certain choices that I did. Let me know if you're interested.

**Author's Note:**

> If you think I'm missing any relevant tags or warnings, please let me know.


End file.
